Political Posts

My last two political posts received much more readership and support than I expected. Still, except for very local and state things, I don’t want to be “that politics guy.” It’s click-baity, and honestly, a lot of it is bullshit.

I’ve been in both parties. When I was growing up, that was not at all uncommon. A lot of my dad’s friends were from different parties, but got along great. A good example is Jack Reed, Rowan Taylor, and Charlie Deaton. Different parties, same agenda. The same holds for John Corlew and Trent Lott.

Political moderation and cooperation are probably what made Mississippi Camelot happen.

It’s no secret that my Dad’s team wanted to run Jack Reed for Governor after Ray Mabus. Two different parties, technically two different generations, the same agenda. Daddy died, and the GOP in Mississippi pulled the rug out from under Carmichael and Reed, their two top runners. While I can tell you who was behind this move, I can’t tell you why they did it. Of course, everybody’s dead now, so there’s that.

I asked Andy Mullins about a Boys of Spring reunion at Millsaps. “We’re too old,” was his response. Not in so many words. He went into details I won’t, but while I understand what he was saying, it cuts me to the soul.

Sometimes, I think the dream is over, the Kane Ditto buys the Orkin Building, and I think “maybe not.” I think what might be happening is that my dad’s generation is either dead or in a nursing home, and my generation is trying to figure out who we should hand the reins over to.

While there were bright spots, I think my generation might have screwed the pooch. I certainly did. Coming out of the cave, my sister made me promise to do some things, hoping it would keep me out of trouble. First is a commitment to self-care, including, especially, asking for help when I need it.

I don’t consider my writing a plea for help, but it does help me be honest about things I was never honest about before. I’ve learnd that I don’t have to be invunerable to be ueseful. That’s pretty huge.

I wrote an obscenely long letter to my pastor asking for pastoral care. In it, I laid out all the secrets that only my sister and Little Bird know. I ended it, asking not for prayer for myself, but prayer that I have the strength to do the things I have to do.

Samson lost his great strength because he doubted himself and he doubted the Lord. Hi, I’m Samson. While I probably won’t bring down the temple, I probably will do something.

I’m not in a party anymore. Parties are for punks. They’re disloyal, and they’re often illogical. For the rest of my life, if anyone asks, just say “Boyd’s for Mississippi.”